


Fire Across My Skies

by cobwebsaint



Series: Domestic Nightmares [1]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Corey Taylor is a Nuisance, Enemies to Lovers, First Dates, M/M, No Porn, and... well..., corey works at the porn shop, jim works at a music store, sorry lads - Freeform, the rest of the idiots are mentioned but yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobwebsaint/pseuds/cobwebsaint
Summary: Would be perfect, were it not for a nuisance by the name of Corey Taylor.
Relationships: Jim Root/Corey Taylor
Series: Domestic Nightmares [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879594
Comments: 16
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WELL I DID IT. First fic in like five months or whatever and this is what you get. I won't even attempt to apologize, this whole AU is my fuggin BABY and I hope y'all love it as much as I do. 
> 
> This is the official establishing fic for what has been dubbed the Domestic Nightmares universe. It's 1996 BabyKnot brought into this, the year of our lord, 2020. I've been putting work into this AU for a good long while now and I'm really happy with how it's come out. 
> 
> This is just an introduction, as I said, and there will definitely be more to come. I'm not really gonna make a solid timeline. Just a fun series that sparks joy and oils the ol' serotonin machine. This one's long as shit but it's cute and it was so much fun to write.
> 
> Alright, I'll shut up. Thanks for tuning in. Enjoy!
> 
> (Side note. Yes. The Angry Goldfish is a real fucking place in DSM and it really is Like That.)

There was a method to this madness, there  _ had  _ to be. Nobody goes through all this trouble for no reason. The effort it takes to be this unreasonably, unbearably fucking  _ annoying  _ had to be worth something in this stupid little blonde motherfucker’s eyes. Jim wasn’t entirely sure what that could be yet, but now he wanted to find out.

It’s not like Jim had never seen the dude before, he’s got a face— nay, a personality, an  _ everything  _ that you remember. He demanded it. Stuck out like a sore thumb amongst all the downtrodden dudes in their 40s looking at all the old jazzmaster models they got in, taking down guitars on their own volition and effectively giving Jim an aneurysm every hour on the hour as a result. (There was a sign that said  **‘ASK A STAFF MEMBER FOR HELP’** amongst every single solitary section of instruments in the store, and  _ yet.  _ Apparently nobody in Bumfuck, Iowa could read.) Band kids accompanied by parents who, half of the time, looked like they were being forced to be there. (Whether it was the kid or the parent being held at gunpoint was to be determined on a case by case basis.) Then there were the older teenagers and people into their 20s and 30s who actually looked like they knew why they were there or. Y’know. Had an actual genuine interest.

This motherfucker though, he was a different breed entirely. Usually it was a nice change of pace to have somebody pop in and liven the place up. Iowa had too many saltines walking around, but he came in with a fully loaded arsenal of personal attacks. In Jim’s tenure at the shop, he’d seen and fallen victim to every variation of fishnets and booty shorts and skirts and torn up jeans that barely counted as jeans anymore and ratty t-shirts with the sleeves and sides cut all the way in to the nipple he (Public Enemy No. 1, as Jim had dubbed him in recent weeks) had to offer. 

Clearly this was some sort of unspoken feud, and that was  _ before  _ he started causing problems on purpose. 

Jim tried not to gawk every time he walked in, he really did. He’d mastered the art of burying his nose in a magazine and ignoring people his first week of working there, and that was back when he was barely 20. But he was still a dude. A simple dude, at that. If there was an ass, particularly a pretty ass, sometimes you just have to look.

The fact that he was pretty was besides the point though. 

Kind of. 

Two weeks ago, our friend Public Enemy No. 1 had dropped into the shop for the routine pick/string/polish/whatever run. He was in once or twice a month to get some shit, look at whatever new stock they’d amassed, crack a couple stupid jokes with the staff, then be on his merry way. That was all fine and dandy. Hardly fazed Jim when he popped back in the next day too. No biggie. He probably just forgot something or found a guitar he liked that he wanted to take a closer look at or something. Whatever. 

Place was always more fun when it was a little busy anyway. Some real talented folks came through the door once in a while, and despite the fact that Jim would rather die than interact with people 99% of the time, it was kinda cool to link up with some of ‘em. Never hurt to make friends. Might even come in handy someday. 

Day three started raising some eyebrows. Day four was when Jim started getting suspicious. Five and six was when he got actively annoyed, but thank fucking god they were closed on Sundays. 

Monday, Jim made the foolish mistake of thinking he was finally free when there was no sign of him for a solid four or five hours after they opened. Three o’clock rolled around and Jim was chilling, making half conversation with some know-it-all who looked like he was still stuck in the 70s with no intention of leaving anytime soon. The usual. He switched into autopilot the second he clocked in for the day unless something interesting happened. 

Apparently some little fuck with too much leg for their own good coming in to play the same shitty rendition of Master Of Puppets, Smoke on the Water, and fucking Smells Like Teen Spirit, then proceeding to leave without another word qualified as  _ interesting.  _

Jim was gonna choke this twink out. 

Well. He was sure gonna  _ think  _ about it. Unfortunately for him and the two, fresh outta high school teenagers Craig had hired last month, he had stupid incompetent bitch disease and his brain came pouring out his ears any time he tried talking to anybody with a nice face. 

So it seemed this was his life now, slowly withering away inside his human meat bag, letting some scrappy little gutter rat burrow into his brain, slowly making him lose every single one of his few remaining marbles. 

Goddamnit. 

By Wednesday, he was starting to get homicidal, yet he still could not force his stupid body to get up and smack some sense into Public Enemy No. 1 no matter how he mentally whooped his own ass about it. He just kept going over the same two sentences at the top of the article he was reading, trying and failing miserably to just ignore it was happening. 

Friday wasn’t  _ his  _ breaking point, but it certainly was for everybody else. One of the aforementioned teenagers came to him practically _ begging _ to get rid of the little ginger menace in the corner. Despite Jim’s apparent incompetence, everyone else  _ had  _ actually been trying to deal with their little pest problem. 

I mean. Nothing  _ worked _ . But they did try. 

Gave the same damn routine every day. From the  _ ‘hey bud, can I help you find anything’ _ to the _ ‘nah, I think I’m alright, I’ll let you know though.’  _ He was dead set on raising some fresh hell and by god, was he doing a fantastic job. In all honesty, Jim was kind of surprised everyone had allowed it to go on for so long. (As if it wasn’t his responsibility as retail elder to deal with such nuisances. To be fair, he normally did. This was just… different, okay?) 

Like damn, it took two whole weeks of the same bullshit for a patron to drive you to tears and/or madness? Good on you, kiddo. 

Direct complaints from the underlings did, however, mean Jim had to put his big boy pants on for once and do his job instead of astral projecting into the void on company time. Which, fine, whatever. He could do that. Maybe not  _ well _ , but he  _ supposed  _ he could find a way to talk to this dude without dying. 

After a (not so) quick smoke break and a very eye opening pep-talk with the family of dumpster racoons around back, Jim let himself back inside, peeking out the window panel in Craig’s empty office and into the main part of the store to find Public Enemy No. 1 right where he’d left him. Alright. Goddamnit. Time to nut up and take out the trash then, huh? Enough was enough. 

Well. Maybe another couple minutes, but  _ then  _ enough was enough. 

Jim finally willed himself out of hiding, letting his legs carry him over instead of trying to force his brain to do all the work. Autopilot.

He was probably gonna get fuckin’ fired otherwise. 

He plastered on the most passive aggressive, retail ready smile he could as he approached his target. Woulda been telling himself to keep his eyes on the prize, given the prize wasn't currently about eight entire inches of midriff. 180 degrees north of the prize. Yeah. That was it. 

Fucking christ. 

Jim cleared his throat as he finally got close enough, “Uh, excuse me,” he said, interrupting whatever riff he was in the midst of butchering. “Can I help you  _ find  _ anything today,  _ sir _ ?” He made some kind of attempt to sound scathing, but judging by the look on this dude’s face, he sounded like a fucking idiot. 

Shocking. 

“Actually, I think you can.” 

Jim wanted to smack the self-satisfied look right off this dude’s face, but at the same time it took everything in his power to keep him from flat out saying  _ “thank fucking god”  _ out loud and in front of him.

Was this suffering finally going to come to an end? Had whatever entity out there been listening this whole time and finally decided to show him mercy?

“Great, would you like—” Jim started, but was quickly cut off. Cuz apparently Public Enemy No. 1 had a whole lot of shit to talk now that Jim had come out from his hole. 

“Let me get your number.”

Well. That wasn’t what Jim expected to be walking into today. 

He stopped dead in his tracks, mouth still hanging open, grasping at straws trying to find whatever the fuck he was saying before he was hit with  _ that.  _ All that came out was a  _ “Huh?”  _ that somehow made him want to die and fall off the face of the earth even more. 

“Come on asshole, I know you heard me. Ain’t that hard, is it?  _ Let. Me get. Your number. _ ”

Jim was still at a loss. The fucking  _ nerve.  _ Part of him wanted to get mad, chew him out, chase him away, rip him a new asshole. So this was a game all along, huh? Little motherfucker deserved to be crumpled into a ball and slam dunked into a trash compactor for the headache he caused. 

That’s not what came out though. Far from, actually. 

“Uhhh. I uh—  _ Well,”  _ he stuttered, quickly trying to recover.  _ Stand your ground, James, don’t be an idiot. _ “I’m on the clock.”

_ Really? That was the best you could do? _

“ _ I’m on the clock,”  _ he mocked back. “Okay. So? Listen, if you’re not gonna do it, then just gimme your phone. Don’t be a pussy,” the dude leaned in, leering at his nametag. “ _ James _ .”

Jim kept staring in absolute awe. He fuckin’ insulted him too. What the  _ hell  _ did this little twink from hell think he was doing? He didn’t actually think that was gonna be an effective pickup line, did he?

(Spoiler alert: it was.)

Jim reached around into his back pocket, never taking his eyes off the dude, producing his phone and fumbling to unlock it without so much as a single glance down. Goddamn traitorous arms. He was praying for god to strike him down on the spot, but he still handed his phone over, dumbly staring as Public Enemy No. 1 located his contacts and plugged in his information. 

He handed it back with a smile, a little too friendly for Jim’s liking. Y’know. After he just proved Jim to be the well trained clown that he was. 

“Shoot me a message, eh? After you’re not  _ so incredibly busy working.  _ Or looking at porn out by the dumpster. Whatever you actually do around here.”

Jim finally broke his stare, glancing down at his screen. Corey Taylor.  _ ‘Corey MF Taylor’ _ to be precise. Evil had a face  _ and  _ a name, it seemed. He still didn’t have any of the necessary gumption to form words. Listening to Corey talk was like getting punched in the gut, the face,  _ and  _ the dick all at the same time. 

The fuck, man. 

He swiveled around and slid out of his stool, carefully placing the guitar he’d been plucking away at back on the wall. Corey turned back to Jim, cocking his head to the side and flashing another smug grin. 

Had he always been this short? Never seemed this short when Jim was sitting behind the counter. 

“Good talk,” Corey affirmed. He strode up to Jim, hooking his forefinger under his nametag and pulling his shirt away from his chest as he passed him by. “Look forward to hearing from you, James.”

And just as quickly as he appeared, he was out the door, bell chiming behind him.

Jim stared at the door as it eased shut and Corey disappeared around the corner, posters and displays blocking the view outside so thankfully he wasn’t forced to watch him saunter back to whatever circle of hell he came from. 

He walked out back again without another word, briefly contemplating shoving the entire pack of smokes in his mouth and swallowing it whole in hopes that all the nicotine would take him out. Instead, he wound up settling in on punching the brick a couple times and having another lengthy therapy session with the raccoons, staring at his phone, battery draining nearly all the way down to zero all the while. 

Jim got a few looks when he did finally reappear, all bloody knuckled and disgruntled, but whatever these kids were thinking after that debacle, they knew better than to say to his face.

~

Eight hours of continued effort to repress Corey Taylor’s reign of terror later, Jim was sat on the back patio, nursing on a beer, watching the sun sink down below the horizon, last few rays weaving through the thicket of trees behind the condo. It was pleasantly warm and humid and the crickets were starting to sing. Thankfully Sid and Mick were both working late so he was free to sit and stew and foam at the mouth as much as he desired, uninterrupted. 

He’d finally gotten his phone back on a charger, saving it by thirty seconds from nuking itself entirely. Unfortunately for him and everyone in a ten mile radius, the display flashing  _ 2% _ only served to bring back his blinding rage.

Was there even a real reason to be mad at this point? Probably not. It was a matter of principle though. 

Like, that shit had to qualify as a hate crime in at least seven different states.

Now he had his name and his number decorated with one too many different iterations of heart emojis and fire emojis and shit. The hell was he supposed to do about that? In theory he could just delete it and pretend it never happened. Stick a fork in a socket and wipe his memory of the last two weeks of tomfoolery he’d endured. Hospital bills and Mick bitching about having to fix the wiring would probably beat out the overwhelming urge to commit a felony. 

Knowing Jim’s luck, if he did that Corey would be back to haunt him the second he got out of the ICU. 

He could always stick with that plan  _ and  _ quit his job, but he wouldn’t put it past Craig to sell his info for the right price. Then he’d have the motherfucker at his door. So that plan also might involve moving to Alaska and being adopted into a family of moose. 

That didn’t sound so bad.

Worst case, he was killed by a moose, which  _ also  _ seemed like a better alternative. 

Of course, the most  _ realistic  _ option to get out of this was just text Corey and tell him to fuck off. Which. Yeah. That was a choice. Jim could have done that hours ago if he really wanted to. Not that he was going to openly  _ admit  _ that he was into Corey to his face, but he didn’t find himself too compelled to be a complete asshole and shoot him down. 

He was just being nice. Courteous. 

Jim scooped his phone up off the 5 gallon maceration bucket-come-table that he was using to keep the back door propped open, yanking the charger out the port, unlocking it, starting a new thread with Corey.

heyyyy  
  


Too desperate.

heyyy  
  


Too horny.

heyy  
  


Eh.

hey  
  


Yeah, no. Fuck this.

Okay, what in god’s name was he supposed to say to this asshole? 

It’s not like he could go right on ahead and be casual like he was some dude he picked up at a bar or whatever. Corey was a known domestic terrorist, he didn’t deserve that kind of respect. But Jim also didn’t wanna be too nasty right off the bat. Cuz y’know. Pretty. He could weasel in a hate fuck if he played his cards right here, and he wasn’t about to screw the pooch on that one. He hadn’t gotten his dick wet in months, could you really blame him?

Corey  _ did  _ seem like the type of dude to appreciate a little attitude though. For obvious reasons. Being a dick himself might earn him some brownie points.

Jim groaned, his head rolling back on his shoulders. Why was he thinking so hard about this? James Donald Root did not have any game. This was a known fact. It’s not like it would suddenly come to him like some kind of superpower.  _ Just shoot your goddamn shot, idiot. _

Corey MF Taylor 🔥💦🍑🧡  
  
**Today** 7:43 PM  
got what you wanted, jackass?  
  
josh?  
  
james  
  
yeah sure same difference  
  
🙄  
  
what a nice surprise  
  
figured it’d take you at least a couple days to actually grow a pair and make your presence known   
  
guess you’re a little more desperate than i thought   
  
me??? are you fucking kidding???  
  
you literally came into the shop every day for two goddamn weeks for the sole purpose of being an inconvenience  
  
and apparently getting my number  
  
touche  
  
at least i was the one BEING a pain in the ass and not the one trying to blair witch the pain in the ass out of existence  
  
i’ll still get your ass no matter how hard you try  
  
think you caught on though. considering the smoke coming out of said ass earlier  
  
is it hard to be this unlikeable?  
  
come oooon lighten up would ya  
  
you’re hot. i’m hot. i’ve already boned every other fag in a 50 mile radius. how bad could it really be?  
  
based on what i’ve seen so far?  
  
shaddup  
  
what’s your game anyway? did you seriously only want my number?  
  
bettin’ on getting a little more than that but you’re not too far off  
  
why do i feel like somehow there’s a better way to go about that 🤔  
  
maybe  
  
where’s the fun in that though?  
  
dear fuckin god dude  
  
don’t act like you didn’t enjoy the show  
  
i feel those beady little eyes of your boring holes into my ass every time i walk in  
  
no idea what yr talking about  
  
riiight  
  
you don’t even know if i’m into dudes  
  
oh buddy  
  
you transcend gaydar and go straight to setting off the fuckin tornado sirens  
  
i don’t know if i should take that as an insult or a compliment  
  
considering i could say the exact same thing about you i think i’ll stick with compliment  
  
if it helps you sleep at night  
  
ever been chokeslammed?  
  
couple times but i’d love to do it again  
  
you’re well on your way  
  
tell me though  
  
am i really free of your bullshit this time?  
  
as long as you’re not sittin here trying to waste my precious time  
  
hey i coulda just deleted your number  
  
but ya didn’t  
  
yet we’re still beatin around the bush  
  
what? you want dinner and a movie?  
  
why i would love to, thanks for asking  
  
...well then  
  
i mean fuck the dinner and the movie part. i don’t do that shit.  
  
would you rather scout out that guitar center on university and find a new victim instead  
  
let it gooooo  
  
nah really i know a place  
  
we can talk details later  
  
i’m free tomorrow after work?  
  
no can do. work nights.  
  
on a fuckin saturday?  
  
don’t disrespect the grind  
  
hb sunday then?  
  
so soon????!!!!  
  
motherfucker  
  
sunday’s fine lmfao  
  
hold up gotta go shake my ass for money  
  
talk later 😘  
  
EXCUSE ME?????  
  
**Read** 8:01 PM

Well.

_ Well.  _

Jim wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting out of this but it wasn’t that. 

Sunday. Sunday was cool. Not like he had much in the way of plans anyway. What was a couple hours out…  _ somewhere _ with a stranger? Certainly wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever done. Cutting it kind of close, but not the  _ worst. _

By now the sky was shades of deep purple and burnt orange, mosquitos coming in swarms to ram against the netting hung around the patio, trying to get at the closest warm blooded creature. Jim only bitched about it being ugly for a day before he was thoroughly convinced it was the best idea Mick’s ever had. 

He kicked the bucket out the doorway so it swung shut with a heavy  _ clack  _ that made Mick’s shelf-o’-shit shake, polishing off his drink and tossing it into one of the bins they kept lined against the railing. 50/50 on whether the crack he heard was bones or more bottles. No splash so he was betting on bottles this time. 

Lightning bugs glinted through the brush as Jim flicked his lighter and lit up a smoke and the wind carried birdsong and the frogs starting to wake and the last of the cicada drone and wood smoke and fresh air. 

Would be perfect, were it not for a nuisance by the name of Corey Taylor.

~

Saturday whipped by way faster than Jim had anticipated. In fact, he tried to make it last as long as humanly possible— waking up two hours earlier than he usually did, dragging out his every day menial tasks to a borderline infuriating extent, wandering around Target and buying shit he definitely didn’t need just so he didn’t have to go home and read the god knows how many texts he’d gotten from Corey and face the music of  _ whatever  _ it was he was getting himself into. 

Still, somehow, it was over in the blink of an eye. Rolled over into midnight and the existential dread started to settle in. 

Sid was sitting across the table from him, taking a bong rip that made Jim’s lungs tighten up in sympathy. He came home late with some dubiously acquired house made food that didn't quite sell by its time, which started with them picking at it like vultures and rapidly devolved into a regularly scheduled game of Why Is James Sulking Now? 

“I don’t get what your fuckin’ deal is, dude,” Sid said, sighing smoke. “Shit, you should be happy you got a date at all. That’s like, some kinda act of god or something.”

“Eat a dick. I can almost guarantee he’s doing all of this to fuck with me. Mind game shit, y’know.” Jim slumped down in his seat, snatching the rig away from him and dragging it to his side of the table. “You don’t know what I went through with this motherfucker.”

“I work at the goddamn _ Fareway _ . I had a bitch spit in my face and somebody’s grandpa threaten to shove me in the rotisserie oven  _ today.  _ You’re not special, princess.” Sid dunked a wing in some vile mixture of sauces from the fridge, shoving it into his mouth, propping his feet up on the table. “You’re just a pussy.” 

Jim rolled his eyes, holding his hit for a minute before coughing it out. “I hate you.”

“You don’t. Would you quit  _ whining?  _ It’s just a night out. It’s about damn  _ time  _ you got a life.”

“I  _ have _ a life.” Jim knocked Sid’s feet back down, hitting the floor with a thud. 

“Having a job you only  _ kind of like  _ isn’t the same as having a life.”

“Y’know, I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

“You asked for my opinion when you asked me to pass the bong.”

Jim let go of an exasperated sigh, slamming it back on the table, petulantly sitting back again. 

“Hey,  _ careful  _ motherfucker. You break it, you buy it. That cost half a paycheck.” Sid grabbed it away, pulling it into his lap, cradling it like a baby. “Take your little bitch fit somewhere else if you’re gonna act like that. I got better things to do.”

“Like what? Gotta get in touch with the mothership soon?”

He narrowed his eyes, sticking his nose up at Jim. “ _ Maybe. _ Jesus dude, can’t you stop being a stubborn prick for  _ once  _ in your life? If it sucks it sucks. And if it sucks, it’s probably you and your giant whiny ass making it sucky.”

Jim looked down into his lap, cracking each of his knuckles one by one. Deep down, he knew Sid wasn’t exactly  _ wrong _ , but he’d already committed to the act this far. That and he did not feel like giving anyone the satisfaction. 

“If you don’t wanna go get a piece of ass, you can always hook me up. Bring him around, make him—” Sid made an obnoxious high pitched moan, hip thrusting into the bottom of his bong. “All up in your personal space. You said he’s some kinda super slut, right?”

“Keep your weird, grimy little hands  _ off,  _ Sidney. Pretty sure he’s too old for you anyway.”

“Hey, I’m like 43 in Orithyia years.”

“Not even gonna pretend to know what the hell that means.”

“You admit you like him though.”

Jim scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _ No I didn’t.  _ I just can’t think of one person who would wanna get within a  _ mile _ of you.”

“Yeah,  _ right. _ You wouldn’t give half a shit if you didn’t like him. I’ve stolen numbers out from under you before. Don’t deny it.  _ Big Jim’s got a little cruuuuush.”  _

“Shut it,” Jim warned. “Hell’s it matter to you anyway?”

“Cuz I’m tired of mopey being your only personality trait. If any prospective mates knew what it was like to live with you, it would be  _ over  _ for you, bud.” Sid pointed a drumette at him, narrowly missing flicking Jim in the face with his suicide sauce. 

“ _ Ew.  _ God, don’t say it like that.”

“You’re not denying it! I believe I have, how you say, proved my damn point. Do you know what you’re doing yet or do you still think you’re about to get kidnapped and human trafficked?”

“Not… really? I talked to him some today. Told me I could pick him up at his place at 8 and that it was a  _ surprise.  _ So, y’know. If I don’t check in by like, midnight, you can assume I’m dead. Just do me a favor and don’t let Shawn interact with my family at my funeral.”

“ _ Ooooh,  _ it’s a  _ mystery.  _ I’ll sit up and wait for you. Sit in the dark and scare the shit outta you when you’re tryin’ to sneak in with your booty call. If you’re gonna fuck him, at least don’t shove his face into your mattress and almost kill him this time. Some of us need the free entertainment.”

“You’re a  _ freak _ , dude.” Jim pushed himself out of his seat, rounding the table and plucking a bottle of water out of the fridge. “I’m hittin’ the sack. Don’t think I can handle you running your mouth anymore. Tell the people in the sky I said hey.”

Sid garbled back something unintelligible, and by the time he left any room for Jim to respond, he was already halfway up the stairs and way too lazy to bother.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim hibernated through the night and a good portion of the early afternoon, just as he usually did, but it took considerably longer for him to drag himself out of bed, pour a pot of coffee down his gullet, shower off a few days’ worth of grease, and generally just begin acting like a human again. 

Here’s the thing. Jim didn’t date. 

Well, Jim wanted to date. He was a stupid soft little Libra bitch who thrived solely off of attention. Of course he wanted to date. He was just god awful at it. It wasn’t even necessarily dating in specific, more just… a complete absence of people skills. 

Really, it was some kind of miracle he’d held down a job in retail for five odd years cuz he was the type of dude you shoved in stockrooms and warehouses and assembly lines for a reason. He couldn’t charm his way around Hellen Keller. If it didn’t click (which it almost never did) then you were both screwed. 

His laundry list of “dates” wasn’t extensive, but it was through and through disastrous nonetheless. From some petite blonde throwing not one, but  _ two  _ pints on him, getting gravel shoved into every hole in his face in the parking lot behind a beatdown little venue, and sitting in a diner booth at 10PM for nearly two hours and barely exchanging four sentences the entire time. Things never ended well for poor, hopeless James. 

Excuse him for being skeptical. Even when it came to friends, he just had to luck out. 

Needless to say the odds were stacked against him. Y’know, just a tad. And sure, maybe he was kinda interested in Corey and maybe he just didn’t want to get his hopes up in case it all went terribly wrong like it always seemed to. As much as it pained him to say, he hoped Sid was right. That’s not something to take with a grain of salt either. Sid only had a coherent thought once every six months, and sometimes it was almost enough to convince Jim that he  _ was  _ from some galaxy that was fifty years ahead of them in knowledge and technology or whatever. 

Maybe he did deserve a little change of pace. Maybe this was another one of those weird fluke circumstances where things just  _ happened  _ and he didn’t have to go through the same neurotic meltdown for the hundredth time. 

And yes, maybe it would help if he stopped acting like a little bitch baby cuz some terrible little twink got under his skin. 

God help him, but maybe it was time to listen to dear rat boy. 

Of course, by the time he reached this revelation, he’d already wasted six hours and really needed to haul ass if he wanted to ~ _roll with it.~_

He managed to slap on something that didn’t make it obvious that he hadn’t done laundry in weeks, avoid all major hangups when trying to get out the door, and have everything fall right into place despite the minor panic attack he had trying to get there. In fact, he pulled up to Corey’s apartment a couple minutes early, which had to earn him some kinda scouts badge or something. This was the most together he’d been in 25 years, which is to say  _ all of them.  _

Jim shot Corey a text, letting him know he was outside, not exactly knowing what the proper etiquette was for this type of thing. Knocking on the door felt too personal for a first date. This was fine. Right?

It took a few minutes, but when Corey rounded the corner and spotted Jim’s shitty old truck, little self-satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips, it was like one of those corny ass movie scenes where life starts moving in slow motion. But y’know. Instead of the hot popular chick in school it was Corey Taylor and instead of a bougie mansion, it was an apartment building that looked like management had forgotten about a solid five years ago. That was real life though. That was what you got in Bumfuck, Iowa and that’s somehow what Jim found so unbelievably charming that he had to sink down in his seat and try and will himself out of existence, even though his windows weren’t even a little tinted and you could probably see the flush to his cheeks from Neptune. He never claimed to have good taste.

Well, this was off to a good start. 

He leaned over and popped the lock up on the passenger door as Corey closed in, greeting him with an awkward little smile. God, he hoped he didn’t look quite as stupid as he felt. 

“Shit man, I didn’t know you’d  _ actually  _ show up on time. I had my bets on you being at least twenty minutes late, but I guess you proved me wrong.” He swung the door open and hopped inside, not even letting Jim get a proper  _ ‘Hey’  _ in first. “Consider yourself lucky I did not look like absolute shit today. Sometimes I wake up lookin’ like a fuckin’ battered housewife. It ain’t pretty. Right side of the bed had my back today, I guess. ‘Bout time that happened.”

Jim blinked. “Hey dude, how are you? Good? Good. I’m not too bad myself.”

Corey rolled his eyes, nervous laughing, slumping back into the seat in much a similar fashion to Jim just a second ago. “Yeah, shut up. You better get used to that shit pretty quick. Not my fault if you can’t keep up. But really, I’m alright. Listen, I usually spend my one day off either picking up a shift for somebody else or laying on my living room floor, so this is like a  _ momentous  _ event.”

“Hate to admit it, but I guess we have that in common. My boss has all the means in the world to hire more staff, but there’s still only like five of us. And I’m the only one there full time, so y’know. Today is my one day to actually eat, sleep, and shit like a normal person but  _ somebody  _ had to go and interrupt that cycle.” 

“Not even a little bit sorry. You’ll get over it. And hey, press your luck and I’ll make sure you sleep  _ real good  _ tonight.”

A dumb laugh blossomed from Jim’s chest and he looked away, shifting the truck into reverse. “Right. So uh. Where’re we going? Or am I just driving around aimlessly all night.”

“You know where The Angry Goldfish is?”

Jim stopped to look over at Corey mid-turn. “That’s your  _ ‘I know a place’  _ spot? Seriously.”

“What? Can’t a grown ass man order a bowl of Goldfish at a bar every once in a while?”

“Oh my  _ god. _ ” Jim cranked it into drive and whipped around the corner to get back out to the highway. “Y’know, I coulda sworn you said you  _ didn’t do that shit. _ ”

“I said dinner and a movie was out. I mean I  _ live behind  _ the movie theater. My roommate and I do that shit every other week. Getting you drunk and picking your brain is a different story. Also I  _ might _ know the staff and get some heavy discounts every time I go in. Maybe.”

“Which geriatric dick did you suck?”

Corey shot him a look of mock disbelief, clapping a hand to his chest. “Oh, fuck  _ off. _ I didn’t have to suck anybody’s dick. Didn’t have to bone anyone either, thank you very much. My best friend’s one of the bartenders.  _ I’m part of the family.  _ Asshole.”

“ _ Touchy. _ Okay. Jesus.” Jim snorted. “Yeah, I know where it is. Y’know, I expected something a lot fuckin’ skeezier, but at least I don’t have to worry bout getting jumped at the weird hipster bar.”

“We can save the seedy holes-in-the-wall for later, I ain’t got a problem with that. I’m being nice, not putting you through the wringer on the first date. Won’t make any promises about the rest.”

“Sound pretty confident about there being more.”

“Uhh, yeah. I sure do. I know you still wanna act all sour about it, but  _ something’s  _ got you coming back for more. So yeah, I’m pretty confident.”

“Sorry, are you, y’know… Trying to make a  _ good impression?  _ Cuz that’s what I’m hearing.”

“What? Me?  _ Nooo. _ No, no, no. Couldn’t be me.”

Jim hummed affirmatively, nodding his head. “ _ Yeah. Mhmm.  _ I’ll take your word for it, bud. Doesn’t seem like your style.”

Corey reached over and smacked him in the arm. “Shut up.”

Jim returned the favor, giving Corey a playful shove. “Motherfucker, you are in  _ my  _ car. Don’t think I won’t remove you. Weekend At Bernie’s your ass for free drinks.” 

“I’m down with that. Sounds hot. But at least get to know me a  _ little bit  _ first.”

Jim had to take pause and roll that one around his noggin for a minute. He was beginning to realize this was probably a little more than he had originally bargained for. Either this was gonna go really good or horribly wrong. It couldn’t  _ really  _ be this simple, this easy. There had to be a catch. 

Now he was even more convinced he was on his way to get kidnapped and sold via Craigslist. 

Casual chatter continued on until they pulled up and made their way inside, Jim making sure to hit all of the gentleman marks in the process. He held the door open (for Corey and about ten other patrons on their way out,) let Corey go ahead of him, sat down last, all that shit your mom tells you before the first real date you go on in high school. It was probably completely unnecessary considering Corey and his smart mouth and quick wit and complete lack of regard for social niceties. But y’know. He also didn’t put Jim on a spit and roast him over an open flame for it. 

If he was gonna be forced to sit in the stupid awful hipster bar, he could at least make light of a bad situation. 

“Pretty sure I’m allergic to this place. I can feel the hives forming,” Jim said, flipping his menu over. “This is just making me double down on every reason I’ve ever had to not step foot in here.”

“Eh,” Corey shrugged. “You develop a tolerance for it after a while. I think whatever’s in the air makes its way into your bloodstream after you eat something. Makes it a little more tolerable. Trust me.”

“Fuck me, dude. Better hope to god that’s true or else one of us is going out in a body bag.” Jim fell quiet to look over his options, but wasn’t given more than a minute to try and rub his two brain cells together in order to read before there was already a bowl being shoved between the two of them. 

“Complements of the bartender, as always.” 

Jim looked up, meeting the face of a short, chubby brunette with her hair pulled into a loose bun. 

“I assume it’ll be the usual for you?” She nodded towards Corey, who shot back with  _ “you know me so well,” _ which made Jim want to kill him slightly more than he already did. 

“What about you, sweetheart? Can I get you a drink to start?” The waitress returned to Jim, flashing a smile. 

“Uhh, yeah. Jack, neat.” He meant to look back at the menu, but was immediately sidetracked by the fact that there was an actual bowl of Goldfish in front of him. Fuck’s sake. “Make that a double. Matter of fact, just keep ‘em coming.”

“Gotcha. I’ll start a tab and give you a few minutes to look over the menu.” She scribbled something down on the ticket before turning on her heel and making her way over to the bar. 

Jim was still just still trying to wrap his head around the culture shock he was currently experiencing. 

“You weren’t kidding about the Goldfish. This is the worst thing I have ever had to witness.”

“Quit your bitchin’. They’re  _ free  _ Goldfish, and you’re also only gonna have to pay half your tab. It could be a lot worse, but lucky for you I’m not quite as high maintenance as I look.” Corey looked smug as could be. He grabbed a pinch from the bowl, tossing one into the air and catching it in his mouth. 

“I swear to god, you’re like 12. I still can’t believe I agreed to this.” 

“23, but you’re not  _ that  _ far off.”

“Oh, so you  _ are  _ legal. In that case, do I get to use my discounted tab to buy you a drink?”

“Oh.  _ Wow.  _ How smooth.” Corey leaned on the table and propped his chin up in his hand. “Unfortunately that one doesn’t work on me. Don’t drink.”

Jim briefly cycled through all five stages of grief before finally collecting himself enough to respond. “So you drag me to the terrible kitschy little hipster bar and  _ you  _ don’t even drink.”

“Correct.” He laughed, probably cuz he knew Jim was absolutely fucking floundering at the moment. “Are you gonna whine this whole time or are you gonna start trying your hand at actually making this a date? Cuz I can go either way, but you might be shocked at what I’d prefer.”

And all of a sudden, Jim’s stupid nervous giggle was back full force. 

“Uhhh, y’know, it does sound nice but I don’t really date. So. Kinda drawing blanks. Which makes me sound like a fuckin’ dork. I’m not that bad. I don’t  _ think  _ I’m that bad.” 

“So underneath the eight feet is a person after all. Who’d’ve thought? Honestly, I’m kinda there too, I won’t even lie. This is not something I do often, so you’re not alone. Shaping up to be a whole night of firsts, huh?”

“Guess so. That makes me feel  _ marginally  _ better.”

Their waitress returned with Jim’s drink and something weird and fruity and supposedly virgin for Corey and took Jim’s order (he just asked for the special, on account of him having not even bothered to read the menu. His mind was elsewhere.) She left them with a generic  _ “we’ll get that right out for you”  _ which Jim didn’t even fully hear, being too busy mulling over where the hell to go with this. 

“So uhhh. I gotta ask. What exactly do you do? For work, I mean.”

“Million dollar question. I’m a jack of all trades. Or, at least when it comes to sex, I guess. I work at that porn shop across from the Days Inn and the Denny’s during the week. The one with the drive-thru. And yes, it is as weird as it sounds.”

“ _ During the week.  _ What’s that mean for the weekends?”

“I strip on Fridays and Saturdays. Amongst other things.”

Jim nearly inhaled his drink, feeling whiskey burn in his sinuses _.  _ He coughed, making a feeble attempt at recovering. 

Corey snickered, taking a long sip of his own drink. “Yeah, wasn’t kidding about that either.” 

“Nope. Not gonna unpack that right now. Gonna ignore that one till a later date,” he said after finally clearing his airway, still a little winded and gravelly. “Porn shop. I can work with that.”

That earned another laugh, and Jim really couldn’t tell if he was laughing at him or with him.

“Must have some weird shit go down there. I can only imagine.”

“For sure. We’re open 24/7, and I’m on graves, so I get the worst of it by far. Had this couple come in at like, three in the morning last week. I don’t know what the hell they were thinking, but they used this numbing cream for your asshole on the dude’s dick like it was lube. He was numb for like, three hours, and they had to come in and make it  _ my _ problem.”

Jim scrunched his face up. “The  _ fuck?  _ Do people just not read or what?”

“You’re askin’ me, man. I really don’t think they do. We’ve had to start keeping a set of handcuff keys behind the counter cuz of how often people lose theirs or get stuck in 'em or whatever. I had a dude come in still locked in cuffs, said his girl told him she got them at our shop, and they were straight up like  _ police grade _ handcuffs. I couldn’t help the dude. Cuffs you buy for play have totally different locks. Sent him up the street to the fuckin’ sheriff. After that I convinced the owner to buy some of the real keys. Keep a whole ring of them lying around now. Pretty sure word’s gotten around about that, but I’ve got no problem helping out someone  _ in need. _ ” 

“Jesus, dude.” Jim had absentmindedly started shoveling Goldfish in his mouth. He was hungry, alright? And it’s not like sriracha Goldfish were gonna be his demise. Shut up. “I wish shit got that interesting around the shop. You were, honest to god, the most eventful thing that’s happened around that place in at least a year. All I get are middle aged white dudes thinking they have the room to lecture me on the history of Black Sabbath. It’s fuckin’  _ mind numbing. _ ”

“So are you a hardcore music snob, or what? Cuz that could make or break this whole thing.” Corey waggled his eyebrows, leaning in a little closer. “I assume you play something? Think I’ve seen you fuckin’ around with the guitars in the past. Y’know, before I decided to disturb the peace.”

He nodded. “Yeah, guitar. I’ve tried other stuff, but nothing else really uh,  _ worked out. _ You know what I mean? I don’t think I’m that bad. Or y’know, I try not to be that pretentious. I just like it. My parents are that type, y’know. Big vinyl collection, always had something on. Rubbed off on me, I guess.”

“Alright, you pass. That’s why I took to harassing you over the losers at Guitar Center. Fuckin’ insufferable pricks. Is dabbling in guitar all you do, or are a man of many facets?”

“I’m not as interesting as I look. I know the tall thing lures people in, but prepare to be disappointed.” Jim huffed a laugh, fidgeting with his hands. “I help out a buddy of mine with cars and bikes and stuff sometimes. Been trying to save up some of my money to replace my truck with a decent bike for a while now. Get something at a decent price and mod it out, y’know. Anything that’s like, putting pieces together and keeping my hands busy.”

“Oh yeah. That stuff always sounds really cool in theory but I’m  _ terrible  _ at the actual execution part. My roommate calls me a fuckin’ live in maid. I can cook and clean and make shit look nice but I’d wind up nailing a piece of Ikea furniture to my forehead even if I was looking right at the directions. Why do you think I decided to be pretty for a living?”

“Is that what you’re after? Big strong man who can do all that shit for you?”

Corey cocked an eyebrow, giving Jim a hard look over. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“ _ Ouch,  _ okay.” Jim flinched, but underneath it he was still smiling for some reason. “What’s the deal with the uh,  _ stripper stuff  _ anyway?” He lowered his voice as if it were some sort of big secret. “You trying to work your way through school or something?”

“Ha! Oh,  _ god  _ no. I barely finished high school. I just do it cuz I like it. Better than working some shitty corporate 9-to-5. Wanna have what fun I haven’t already fucked up while I still can.”

“Guess that means you don’t wanna throw ass until you’re 65?”

“Uhhh, probably not. I’d love to make a career out of writing or music or something in the future, but it’s not quite as easy as throwing ass is, so. See where the road takes me. Who knows, I could be a priest inside ten years. Don’t know how welcoming the Catholic church would be to a motherfucker like me, but never say never. Why, do  _ you _ wanna sit and listen to old dudes tell you about  _ your _ job for the next 40 years?”

“I’ll pass. That sounds like my own personal hell. I have no clue what I’m doing, so I guess I’m with you.”

Corey chuckled, raising his glass. “Fuck, I’ll drink to that.” 

They chinked glasses, Jim polishing off his drink just in time for their waitress to return with their order and a refill. He also thought it smart to get some water cuz he had genuinely been too caught up in what was coming out of Corey’s stupid face to realize he’d been drinking at all. 

If the abduction plan was still on, he didn’t even mind. Better to be a little warm and fuzzy and enjoy this before being pimped out to some goon with a fetish for giants halfway across the world. If you asked him now, he probably wouldn’t even remember why he was so twisted and wound up about this in the first place. There were more important matters at hand. Like how pretty Corey’s eyes were even in the shitty light from the shitty chandeliers and light fixtures made out of liquor bottles in this shitty bar that was getting a little bit less shitty as time went on. 

Those Goldfish were totally laced with something, but Jim’s capacity to be mad about it was nil. 

He was  _ also  _ too busy being pissy earlier to realize that he was, in fact, starving. Apparently the special was something called a Goldfish Tenderloin which Jim didn’t even want to think about too hard, lest his brain fall directly out of his ass. It was actually pretty good, but alas, that’s all he would allow himself to comprehend in the moment.

“Mmm, you wanna talk weird shit,” Jim said, mid-swallow, cuz the whole concept of not being rude was starting to slip a little. “No good work stories, but my roommate’s got a thing for dead shit. One of them scavengers or whatever you call ‘em. There’s a bucket full of like, liquified flesh sitting on our porch. Bunch of bones sitting in a recycling bin full of soap and water.”

_ Perfect suppertime chitchat James, nice going. _

“You have my attention,” Corey mused.

_ … Well, alright.  _

“Dude brings those black garbage bags on hikes. Has a whole box of ‘em in his glove box. I helped him haul a whole deer to our friend’s place once. Most of the body was gone but the fucker’s head was still totally intact. Eyes were gone though, which was  _ freaky.  _ My other roommate and I always joke about him getting caught digging up a corpse or making a move on some dead chick down at the morgue. He’s built like a double wide trailer too. I don’t think anybody would try and stop him.”

“If this doesn’t work out, give him my number,” Corey winked, shoving a fry into his mouth. “I’m more concerned about the fact that you have two roommates. I can barely deal with Paul and I’ve known him like, most of my life.”

“It’s uhh,  _ interesting.  _ I’ve known Mick since high school. He’s a character but he does his share, y’know. Always gotten along pretty well. Sid, I actually met at work a couple years back when I first started. He was this weird little spaghetti noodle of a kid, talking some shit about aliens, browsing through our little vinyl section. He’d show up a couple times a week to just look at stuff and we slowly just kinda got tight. Moved in with Mick and I like, two years ago now. It’s not too bad, really.”

“Sounds… kinda famil—” 

“ _ No.”  _ Jim cut him off, pointing a stern finger at him. “Not even a little. He was just a curious kid.  _ You’re  _ a fuckin’ enemy of the state.” 

Corey made an  _ ‘I’ll give you that’  _ gesture. “I’ll assume Mick’s the necrophile?”

“That would be him.”

“God forbid I be the guy to ask, but what school’d you go to?”

“Gotta make sure the world’s not quite that small, right? I went to Roosevelt.”

“Ah. Herbert Hoover.”

Jim pulled a face, scrunching up his nose. 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t say it. I fuckin’ know, believe me. God, that place was a nightmare. Only saving grace was my little band of misfits. I’ll take it you’ve never been too far out of Des Moines, huh?” 

“Taken a road trip here and there, but nah. I’m too fuckin’ poor for that, man. Born, raised, and probably stuck here for good.”

“Join the club. Could be worse. I mean, it’s definitely a pit, but have you ever been to fuckin’ Nebraska? That’s where hopes and dreams go to die.”

“You do have a point there. I kinda hate the idea of being the dude to never leave his hometown. Gonna try my best to keep my head on straight, but if I turn into  _ that guy  _ I’m gonna need somebody to put me down.”

“I’ll volunteer, but you gotta give me the same courtesy.”

“People always say that, but you can’t guarantee you’re both gonna die. Somebody’s always gonna die first. No guarantees the second bastard’s gonna die either.”

“Suicide pact more your style? Pretty even chances there. Although if we OD, I can’t make any promises on what my tolerance is like.”

Jim propped his elbow up on the table, extending a pinky. “You got yourself a deal.”

“Now look who’s 12.” Corey shook his head and looked away but he was grinning like a dumbass all the while. And he took the pinky swear so  _ ha. _

“You know, what’s really funny is that my fuckin’ parents moved a couple hours north last year. I had my out and yet I’m still here, dicking around, same as it ever was. You got any family around?”

“Sister. She’s a good couple years younger than me. See her whenever I can. And I’ve got my grandma not too far away, who basically raised me. Otherwise it’s just me and Paul and occasionally Chris and Joey when they’re in the mood.”

“Best family’s the one you pick up along the way, right? God, that sounds  _ so cheesy,  _ but y’know. It’s still not wrong.”

“I’ll give you a pass. This time. You’re right though. Can’t complain. Always done good by me, even with me being a horrible bastard.”

“Glad to hear.” Jim grabbed his glass up off the table, holding it up and swirling around the whiskey in the bottom. “World’s full of possibilities, y’know. Here’s to hoping for more good to come, eh?”

“You’re gettin’ kinda tipsy there, huh bud?”

“Little bit.”

“Shut up and eat your food.”

Banter stacked on top of banter, and time passed a whole lot quicker than either of them realized. It was only when it was just the two of them and a few other late night alcoholics were left that they realized how long they’d been at it. After paying the tab and spending a little too long trying to do the math for a 20% tip, Jim excused himself to the bathroom. Honestly, he just needed to splash some cold water on his face and pinch himself a little to make sure he wasn’t asleep or in a coma or dead. 

That had gone way too well, right? Like, that was borderline  _ normal.  _ Part of him was still sketched out. Call it insecurity, but being liked wasn’t something he was too familiar with. It always brought a sense of impending doom. But for once in his life, he was actually making a conscious effort to shut the fuck up. Cuz yeah. At this point he was willing to admit he kinda liked Corey and he got the vibe that Corey liked him back and he was all fucked up and a little drunk and his head was swimming and  _ god  _ did he hope this didn’t blow up in his face this time. 

It felt good. It felt real and the furthest thing from forced and he didn’t wanna ruin it just yet. 

Jim straightened himself up and hyped himself up enough to believe that he was still sober enough to drive before making his way back out, finding Corey at the bar making conversation with the staff, wearing the same infectious smile he’d had on all night. For the dude who made him actively homicidal less than three days ago, he was making it annoyingly difficult to not like him. 

He moved in behind Corey and made the daring choice to lay a hand on the small of his back to get his attention. To Jim’s surprise, he leaned into it, eyes immediately moving up to meet Jim’s.

_ Did he suddenly have game? _

_ No, no way. Don’t get too carried away.  _

“First of all, am I just drunk or did the door to the bathroom say  _ sausage? _ ”

The bartender snorted, giving Corey a nod before getting back to cleaning up, making Corey giggle too. “Uhh, yeah. You read that right.”

“Jesus. I can’t even tell whether I love or hate this place anymore. We good to go?”

“It’ll grow on you more and more every time. They’ll know you by name in no time. I think we are, though. Lead the way, kind sir.” 

Much like the soft fool he was, Jim took Corey’s hand and led the way outside, floating along to his truck before he was tugged backwards by dead weight. 

Corey had stopped a few paces back. “You mind if I smoke first? Dude’s gotta have at least one vice.”

“Oh shit, yeah. That’s a good call, actually. Only my window actually rolls down. Crank on the other one is broken.” Jim giggled and doubled back, pulling his own pack out of his back pocket. 

Corey perched a cigarette between his lips and patted himself down, and yes Jim may have been staring at his mouth like a weirdo, but it simply was not his fault that Corey had lips like that. 

“Shit,” Corey muttered, pulling Jim out of his stupor. “You got a light?”

“Uhhhh, yeah. Hold on, just—” Jim fumbled around, hastily pulling out a smoke and his lighter from the pack. “Here we go.”

Due to that fact that he no longer had enough brain cells inside his skull to complete a logical thought, he flicked it alight, holding his hand up to guard it from the breeze, awkwardly bending down to share the flame with Corey. 

He caught Corey’s gaze for a second and in the glow, he swore he saw him blush. 

So the facade was starting to come down. 

“Well, was it as horrible as you anticipated?” Corey asked, noticeably staying  _ that close _ to Jim.

“Nah,” Jim said, breathing smoke. “Might even think about doing it again sometime.”

The sky was an inky black and the crickets were putting on their best performance. The sound of cars and late night city bustle and whiskey sweet and charcoal carried through the air. It was quiet and comfortable and easy and this time, it really was pretty perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ratcoven.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> ratcoven.tumblr.com


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